


Radiance

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 15:39:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7112041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day is hot, unusually so, and it seems that the sun beating down on his head as he trained with Robb in the yard must have fried his brain like an egg, because he couldn’t possibly be seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. Sansa couldn’t possibly be lying in the meadow, bare as winter, with her toes pointed into the grass and her arms flung above her head. He has to be hallucinating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Radiance

For a moment, Jon thinks he’s hallucinating.

The day is hot, unusually so, and it seems that the sun beating down on his head as he trained with Robb in the yard must have fried his brain like an egg, because he couldn’t possibly be seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. Sansa couldn’t possibly be lying in the meadow, bare as winter, with her toes pointed into the grass and her arms flung above her head. He has to be hallucinating.

Or dreaming something he’s shamefully imagined seeing of late.

They could not be more wrong, the things he’s thought about her, the things he’s wanted. But his body doesn’t care that she’s his half-sister, or that she’s barely fifteen. Indeed, his body cares about little else these days. Robb and Theon have been dallying with serving girls and visiting the brothel in Wintertown for years, ribbing him all the while about being a late bloomer after he’d turned tail and run that first time with a woman they paid for. They’d never understood the burden of his bastardy, and why should they? Jon didn’t always understand it himself.

It seems his body has come to side with Robb and Theon on that matter.

Sansa is beautiful. She always has been, but in the way of a portrait or a flower. Dainty, prim, distant. The girl in the meadow is dainty, but she’s far from prim and anything but distant. She’s beautiful in the way of a woman.

He must make some sound because she suddenly her eyes fly open and lock on his. For a moment, they only stare at each other, but then she sits up with a gasp and his heart thunders in his ears at the flush of her cheeks, the cream of her skin, the sway of her breasts. Her nipples are as pink as almost-ripe strawberries, her collarbones a masterpiece of architecture. Jon wants to trace those collarbones, to dip his tongue in the notch between them, to taste her lips before drawing the berry pink of her breast deep into his mouth to suck. Gods, he must truly be a bastard to be perverted so, that he would want such things with a sister.

She doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even cover herself, though she could; Jon can see her shift and gown beside her, folded neatly on the grass. Something about that only makes desire seize him more fiercely, that she stood nude under the sun’s caress and took the time to carefully fold her clothing. Did she disrobe impulsively, wanting to enjoy the warmth and light of the day? Or does she do this routinely, stealing away to dance naked like a faerie? Either appeals deeply to Jon in a different way, and he’s taken by a profound wish to be able to ask her, to tell her all that’s been in his head of late and ask what’s been in hers.

But such things are impossible. He doesn’t know how or why, he only knows that they are, so he forces himself to duck his head, to turn and walk from the meadow and into the Godswood without a word to her. Tonight, he knows he’ll try not to remember every stroke and curve and comma of her body. He also knows he’ll fail.


End file.
